Breaking Heaven
by ChasingPerfectionTomorrow
Summary: The first step forward was the hardest, of course, it always was -Gods it was always the hardest. But then it was like a landslide, a force of nature barreling forward until she felt she couldn't stop moving even if she wanted to, like if she tried to stop now, she might never start again. (MAJOR Trespasser Spoilers! ahead. Proceed at your own risk.)
1. Dead in the Water

**A/N:**

SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT! MAAAAAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE MOST RECENT DA:I DLC. You've been warned, dudes.

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Screw it. Just screw it.

I didn't even really ship this very hard till the DLC, but then... there was just so much freaking potential. I want to play with the whole Well of Sorrows-your boyfriend might be Mythal thing as well as the bit at the end of the DLC where the elves start disappearing all over Thedas, and where Abelas went, and how -okay, I'm gonna give all my plot ideas away. This chapter is just sort of a rehash of where we -our poor elven Inquisitor and friends- stand.

* * *

 ** _Chapter One: Dead in the Water_**

* * *

 _If I was not myself_  
 _And you were someone else_  
 _I'd say so much to you_  
 _And I would tell the truth_  
 _It's high, can't hardly breathe_

 _When your hands let go of me_  
 _The eyes say standing out_  
 _And I feel things from selves_

 _I'm dead in the water_  
 _Still looking for ya_  
 _I'm dead in the water_  
 _Can't you see, can't you see._

 _-Dead in the Water, by Ellie Goulding_

* * *

Dryanna did not weep.

Instead she pushed up the sleeve of her robe and stared at the smooth, rounded end of her arm, where once her left hand and forearm had been. The skin was so smooth and perfect that the rest of the appendage might never have existed at all. The pain was gone, the pulsing, ever present tug of the Mark and the Fade beyond was gone, and the world felt utterly silent, still, as if she existed out of time.

Perhaps she did, she mused, taking in her strange surroundings. The Qunari statues were hardly talkative spectators. She shivered despite herself; what a terrible way to die, if they were truly dead at all.

She had woken, alone, armless, with only the fading vision of Solas – _Fen'Harel_ her mind whispered traitorously, or perhaps it was the voices in the Well, unbidden- left to her. For a moment she had believed he meant to let the Mark kill her, consume her, a part of her -a large, nearly overwhelming part of her- had welcomed the end. In all her struggles and failings against Corypheus she had never wished for death, but under the weight of the truth… darkness had seemed preferable.

Gods help her, she could still feel the lingering press of his lips on hers; a strange numbing, and electric sensation that seemed to be embedded in her skin. The sensation was nearly as strong as the imprint of his sadness and regret, palatable and sharp on her tongue. The strength of his guilt had been beyond her comprehension. She felt suspended in disbelief, like an insect caught in amber –or perhaps a Qunari trapped in stone. She had once believed herself beyond such shock, such crushing, inescapable astonishment; after everything thing that had happened to her, she'd thought her days of world saving were over. It appeared that once again she bore a different mark, another wound in place of the old, this one pulsing in her breast with increasing persistence. Once again, she felt she held the fate of the world in her ignorant, fumbling hands. This time in the guise of an elven God's heart.

A sudden bubble of manic disbelief rose in her chest and burst from her lips in a bastardized version of a laugh.

" _Fuck,_ " she grunted, her voice oddly distended, unfamiliar in her ears. It was a word she'd never known prior to her introduction to the Iron Bull, but it had so many colorful uses. She could think of no better sentiment to encompass the sudden upending of the world she'd once felt she understood.

Everything – _everything-_ had changed.

She wanted to hate him, Gods –the Maker, Spirits of the Fade, power hungry Magisters in the North, whoever would listen, whatever was _real_ anymore- she wanted to hate him. To hate what he'd done and the intentions behind them. But even as he'd laid the intentions of his scheming before her, as he'd unwoven the tapestry of his elaborate deception and betrayal, something inside her had warmed to the idea. To her people restored, pulled out from beneath their oppressive shroud.

But that… that had been only the lingering effects of the truth she'd been raised all her life to believe –the lie that had been fed to her since birth. That the humans were to blame for the fall of her people, that they had once been beings of wisdom and power, only to have it dashed away by the selfishness of humanity. It was a lie that had begun to crumble in the Temple of Mythal –no, before then, as she'd wandered in confusing elven ruin after confusing elven ruin- and which now laid crumbled in the wake of the implosion.

 _What right have we,_ her heart asked, _to rise from the doom we put upon ourselves? What right have we to unmake this world and shape it to our liking, when we proved we are incapable of managing such power?_

If she'd had more time perhaps she could have made him see… could have made him understand… but how couldn't he already? He'd laughed with Varric and The Iron Bull, commiserated and talked with Cass and Blackwall –No, it was Thom now, Gods, must everyone she cared for lie to her? He had watched their struggles, witnessed their bravery and self-sacrifice, and it had not been enough to sway him. How then, could she?

 _Because_ , the voices in her head whispered, the Well cresting and fading in disjointed waves, _he loves you. You saw it, the sudden uncertainty, the hesitation. Already you sway him, it is why he could not take you with him, it is why he fears to remain with you for long. His guilt spans oceans and eons, he feels there is no course beyond that which he has made to find recompense for all he took from his people._

"But what can I do?" she croaked, leaning heavy and broken against a rock. "What in Thedas can I do? Have I not done enough? Already they clamor for my resignation, my quiet retirement. They fear and hate me."

The voices trembled and rumbled like distant thunder before settling again. This time it was a woman's voice, old and tired, that whispered in her head.

 _You have learned the truth, child. Elven Gods were merely beings of supreme power, mortal and greedy. A power which lingers in this world despite all the Dread Wolf has done. A power which can be discovered, unraveled, by those who have the means to look. You've held a strong connection to the Fade all your life, you do not need your Inquisition to find this knowledge, but you may find a way to harness the influence you have wrought. Though your search may take you from the light, and into shadows._

Dryanna swallowed thickly, pressing down a lump of bitterness and bile. The Well was mostly silent, growing ever more dormant over the past two years -this was easily the longest 'conversation' she'd ever had with 'it'. She had only taken it to preserve what was left of her people in the first place, and oh, how foolish she felt now. She had learned early on how to suppress its whispers and promptings, though her dreams were another matter, though they were often so disjointed and misty they hardly made any sense at all. She'd suppressed it mostly out of fear, but partially out of necessity. After it had told her how she might defeat Corypheus, she had carefully sealed it away inside the vaults of her mind where it could not distract her from what she had to do.

Gods, Solas had been so angry with her. More angry than she had ever seen him, but there had also been fear there, and uncertainty. At the time she had assumed it was for her, a worry born of the love she was sure they shared, now she thought that perhaps it had been for him –how had her drinking from the Well disjointed or bent his plans? Had he feared discovery?

The moment he'd turned toward her, silhouetted in the light of the Eluvian, his eyes so distant and cold, the Well had risen in a fury of screaming recognition, a chorus of rage and envy and only the burning of her Mark had scorched the chaos clean. How had it not recognized him before? Or had the whispers always been there and she'd merely ignored them?

No, no, she could not have ignored the madness the Well inflicted as Solas's eyes glowed blue, it had been uncontrollable, unstoppable. Something had changed. _He_ had changed. Or perhaps he had merely been revealed, the layers of his disguise pulled free and left bare. The answer was there, somewhere in the voices of the ages, but she had almost no understanding of how to harness them.

She'd always known the Well held enormous potential. Morrigan had made it very clear, with bitterness and envy burning in her eyes –that is, until her mother had appeared, and then there had been only relief. It was a potential that had frightened Dryanna, not excited her as it had the Witch.

Flemeth's words - _Mythal's_ words- echoed back at her. _The truth is not the end, it is the beginning._

It was that beginning she had feared, had avoided since the day the Breach had been sealed for the last time. She wondered if perhaps she had always known the truth of him, of Solas, but the ache in her breast told her that wasn't true. Despite all her stoicism and careful words to her friends over the past two years, she'd carried a hope inside her, desperate and raw, that he would return.

And so he had, she supposed bitterly, looking again at her arm, or what was left of it.

And so he had.

With the weight of the truth heavy and suffocating, she rose shakily to her feet. It was a quiet, peaceful place. If not for the tortured faces of the frozen Qunari she might have been tempted to never leave, but their expressions made her skin crawl, as if they were truly watching her, tracking her every movement. And the voice inside her, not born of the Well, but the one that had led her up the mountain after the Conclave had exploded, the voice that had led her into Adamant fortress, through the horrors of the Fade, and back through the ruins of Haven, reminded her that she was strong, that she was more than her love for a man who was beyond her comprehension, or her trust.

The Dread Wolf take her, indeed.

She was more than this self-pity and heartbreak.

She did not save Thedas only to let someone –whoever that someone was- destroy it. She had learned that it was easy to hope when the only other alternative was utter despair. Cullen had once told her that not everyone was capable of making the distinction, that it was one of the many things that set her apart, but she had never known another way. She would believe that she could change this, that she could stop him, because she _had_ to. Just as she'd had to believe she could defeat an ancient Magister when everyone and everything seemed to think otherwise.

Dryanna looked toward the Eluvian Solas had stepped through, its surface black and unmoving like the spaces between the stars, then toward the one she'd followed him through, glowing blue and bright. Right now she needed her friends. She had choices to make, new paths to carve. Through that mirror waited people who loved her, cared about her, who did not deserve whatever fate Solas weaved for them in his blind desire for reparation.

The first step forward was the hardest, of course, it always was -Gods it was always the hardest. But then it was like a landslide, a force of nature barreling forward until she felt she couldn't stop moving even if she wanted to, like if she tried to stop now, she might never start again.

 _Var Lath Vir Suledin_ , she had said to him. Desperate, broken, breaking. It had been the truth, as close to the truth as her weary heart could manage, she only wished it wasn't. Gods, how she wished it wasn't.

She stepped through the mirror and into the future.

Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra studied her warily for a moment before the dwarf held out his hand to the Tevinter Magister, tears in his eyes and a wavering smirk on his face. "Pay up, Sparkles. Told you she'd lose the arm."

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thoughts? Short chapter to start us out, next chapter much longer and deals with the impending dissolution of the Inquisition and the aftermath. No beta here, so be kind, but don't be afraid to point out mistakes, we all make them.

According to Tumblr 'Var Lath Vir Suledin' means: Our love has the strength to withstand this path that you walk.

Speaking of Tumblr, you can find me there under (you guessed it) chasingperfectiontomorrow.


	2. The End

_I saw the light fade from the sky_  
 _On the wind I heard a sigh_  
 _As the snowflakes cover_  
 _My fallen brothers_  
 _I will say this last goodbye_

 _Night is now falling_  
 _So ends this day_  
 _The road is now calling_  
 _And I must away_

 _-The Last Goodbye, by Billy Boyd_

* * *

By some miracle, none of them pressed her for answers or explanations. Their silent concern was so thick, however, that Dryanna felt vaguely smothered as they made their way through Eluvian after Eluvian, like some sort of endless, creepy time loop.

Dryanna would have been willing to give up a leg as well as her arm if she never had to pass through another Eluvian again, but something told her she was going to be sorely disappointed. Besides, she had a newfound appreciation for all her remaining limbs.

Cassandra in particular seemed deeply troubled, more so than Dryanna had seen in her in a good long while. The other woman wouldn't stop looking at her, or touching her; her hand on her arm or back, as if she was afraid Dryanna was going to faint or make a wild run for it at any moment. In fact, Dryanna didn't think she'd seen Cass so upset since that first day in the dungeons of Haven, when the Seeker had held a sword to her throat. Oh, how things had changed. Now, it was her… her _lover_ –Gods, that didn't sound right in her head, too impersonal, to tame for the shattered feeling she was carrying around inside her- holding the executioners axe.

None of it made any damn sense anymore.

She couldn't make the pieces fit together in her mind. The memories she had of him, of _them_ –and God's knew she tried not to dwell on them often- seemed so completely removed from the elf she'd just encountered that it was beyond reckoning. Like maybe they were two opposing halves of a coin; related, but very, very different. The Solas she had known had been kind, compassionate, loyal and dedicated. The Solas she had known… had loved her.

Maybe none of that mattered now, no matter what the Well whispered.

Dryanna's first thought, much like Varric, was to make light of the situation. Distract them all with her missing hand –oh, the jokes she would suffer at the _hands_ of her 'friends' over the years- so maybe they wouldn't notice something else was missing, something far more important. Laughing through the pain wasn't exactly a Dalish concept, but it was one she'd happily adopted since Inquisition soldiers had plucked her bruised and bleeding body off the side of a mountain, which felt like an utter life time ago. It was a surprisingly effective coping mechanism, and it was always enjoyable to get a rise out of Cassandra. It made the nights less lonely and the days less empty, for whatever reason. Dorian would likely accuse her of running away from her problems, but only because he happened to be an expert at it.

But this… well, there was no witty quip to get her out of this one. No stupid joke to mutter under her breath that was going to fill the total hollowness in her gut. No laugh that could ease the ache between her ribs. She wasn't even sure she could muster one if she tried.

Gods, she was tired. A bone deep weariness that made her joints ache, and she was experiencing the strangest tingling sensation at the blunted end of her arm, like her body hadn't quite realized there wasn't a wrist and fingers somewhere at the end of it. She would suddenly swear she could feel an itch on the back of her left hand, only to realize a prolonged heartbeat later that there was nothing left to itch. It was a disorienting and rather upsetting reminder. She'd never been a particularly vain person, but then… she'd also had all her appendages.

This was really going to affect her supposed marriage prospects -Josephine was going to be mortified.

Another sensation was poking at her, quiet and patient, but not easily ignored. It was her magic. Her _real_ magic, what she had possessed before she'd accidentally picked up a rolling green orb that had broken the sky open. It was… reassuring, that poke. Not like it once had been; sort of scary and tempting and mysterious. It felt pretty damn tame compared to the raw power of the Mark. Sort of like training with a weighted practice staff then being handed a lighter, real one; muscles strong and full of engrained memory born of hours and _hours_ of practice.

"We're nearly there," Cassandra muttered, still eyeing her side long, still tense and concerned. Gods, Dryanna hoped that look would fade fast. The last thing she needed was for everyone to start treating her like a fragile invalid.

The final Eluvian lay just ahead, but they lagged a bit, each of them carrying more than their fair share of scrapes and bruises. One side of Dorian's head was matted with blood, though the cut looked shallow, but Bull was going to be _pissed_. Or maybe they realized, like her, that their job wasn't quite done yet, that beyond that shimmering light waited the end of something old and the beginning of something new, and that they likely wouldn't be facing the unknown together, not this time.

She slowed to a stop, and waited till they did the same. They all looked anxious, worried, and uncertain, like maybe she was going to start screaming or crying all over them, which probably wasn't too far from the truth. Dorian at least tried for a smile, which sort of missed the mark with all the blood on his face.

"I promise I'll explain everything once we gather Cullen, Josie, and Leliana. It's not a story I really want to tell twice," Dryanna said with a grimace. "But… I just… I wanted to say- Well, I'm not sure what I wanted to say. Only that everything is really messed up right now and I have no idea what is going to happen, and I've just learned some crazy, crazy things, and-"

She was interrupted by Cassandra's arms around her.

The Seeker held her like she wasn't quite sure how arms worked, made only _more_ awkward by her blood and filth covered armor that was decidedly not cushy as it pressed her breasts into flat-cakes. Dryanna for her part, was stunned, quickly running through all the memories of her interactions with Cassandra, trying to think of another time they might have embraced, and coming up with nothing. If she hadn't just experience the emotional equivalence of the Breach exploding, it would have easily been the most surprising thing to happen to her in several years.

"Well, it's something anyway," Dorian muttered mysteriously before stepping forward and hugging them both. His chin rested on top of her head and he rubbed, physically _rubbed,_ her back in gentle soothing motions.

"I hope you realize we all look like giant jackasses," Varric proclaimed before squeezing into the fray, one arm around her waist and the other around Cassandra's, _of all people_. Dryanna wasn't entirely sure she wasn't dreaming -perhaps it was their proximity to the Fade within the Crossroads that was addling their minds. They were a smelly, sweaty, bloodied mess of feelings and Dryanna sniffed ominously.

"I hate all of you, I don't want to cry," she said, blinking rapidly into Dorian's gore covered collar.

"Best not to," the other mage said into her hair, "that sort of thing can cause a chain reaction, and I'm concerned Cassandra would stab me if I were to witness any outward show of emotion."

Cassandra grunted. "It would certainly give me an excuse."

"Maker, we're terrible at this comforting thing," Varric said from somewhere in the vicinity of her armpit. "Listen, Dry, we got your back, even if we can't be at your side all the time, whatever happened back there… whatever you saw or heard or hallucinated, we- well, we just got your back. Okay?"

"Damnit, Varric," Dryanna grumbled, wiping her nose indelicately on the shoulder of her robe. "I hate it when you give speeches, they always make me want to cry, and then punch something." She blamed Sera for that particular sentiment.

"Fortunately for all of us, you don't hit very hard," Dorian said, extracting himself with a haughty amount of grace and twirling one end of his mustache.

"Not to mention you-"

"Varric," Cassandra warned, disentangling herself like she was shedding a dirty cloak and refusing to look anyone in the eyes. Her cheeks were rather red.

"Whaaat," Varric whined, looking deceptively innocent with his hands held up in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything _rude_. Certainly nothing about missing hands or arms. Nope, nothing limb related whatsoever."

Cassandra glowered at him and Dryanna, despite everything, or maybe because of it, found herself smiling like an idiot because it really _was_ just like old times.

Gods, that year fighting Corypheus and closing the Breach had been the longest, most awful year of her life… yet, despite it all… she had missed this. Missed her friends; the three of them out in the crazy wilds of the world discovering shit that didn't make any sense, barely escaping demons and dragons and giant bears with their lives, and being there for one another when the smoke finally settled. She'd grown close to everyone she'd managed to pick up along the way, but these three –a Tevinter mage, now Magister, a Dwarf from Kirkwall, now a Viscount, and a Seeker, once the Right hand of the Divine- had always been her backbone, her legs to stand on when hers just wouldn't hold her up anymore.

Fuck, now she really did want to cry.

"One joke Varric," she said with a glare. "You've got one joke, so you had better make it count."

Varric beamed, then cleared his throat seriously, contemplating for a moment before snapping his fingers in delight.

"Aha! Got one," he announced, hands on his hips. "Well, let's just say, I'm glad you're going to be _all right_."

Cassandra's noise of disgust echoed loudly throughout the Crossroads.

* * *

Cullen couldn't quite stop staring at her missing arm.

He was trying to be discreet about it, the poor man, but every time he thought her attention was directed elsewhere, his eyes flickered to it, as if he couldn't quite believe it was gone. Dryanna understood the feeling. She hadn't quite come to terms with it herself, but mostly she was trying not to think about it. She had other things to worry about, like the man she loved trying to destroy the world. There would be time to cope with the physical trauma later.

"We are so glad you are alright, Inquisitor," Josie gushed, rushing forward to give her a brief hug, her eyes avoiding the left side of her body entirely. That was their Ambassador, ever polite and well-mannered.

Dryanna gave them a smile that wavered and collapsed into a nearby chair, legs stretched out and boneless before her. Cassandra stood by the fireplace, looking particularly broody. Dorian had left to get himself patched up, a fuming Iron Bull in tow, and Varric had gone off to let his seneschal know he was, in fact, still alive.

"How long do we have till I have to face the Exalted Council?" she asked, wishing she could take a bath and maybe a yearlong nap. The very last thing in the world she wanted to do was face a panel of twisted, ungrateful diplomates. It seemed saving the world only garnered one so much favor, she only wished it had lasted a little longer. She wasn't quite ready to pick up the burden of Thedas again, damnit.

Lelianna shifted from the shadows, expression guarded. "An hour, maybe less. They have grown very impatient."

Dryanna closed her eyes for a moment. The Well whispered and muttered like a swarm of bees between her ears as flashes of the past few hours played before her eyes like the opera Josephine had taken her to see. Gods, everything was such a mess.

"I'm going to disband the Inquisition," she said, finally.

Cullen drew in a sharp breath, "My Lady are you sure-"

And so Dryanna told them. She told them everything Solas had said to her, grinding the words out like she was personally sharpening the blade meant for her execution. The silence and uncertainty fell like a shroud as she spoke, harkening back to the days when their every move felt like it might bring the world crumbling down on top of them. Solas had not been precisely popular, but he had been a trusted figure in their inner circle, he had been _one of them_ , and while Thom Ranier's betrayal had certainly stung… this was far worse.

"We can no longer trust our people, already I've discovered more spies" Leliana said after a stretch of weighty silence, looking suddenly wearier and older than she had just moments before.

"It is the fate of every large organization," Josie said with a sigh, not quite looking at anyone, her eyes glinting bright and wet in the firelight. "No matter how noble our intentions, we no longer have the threat of the Breach to bind people to us."

Cassandra huffed. "And the threat of an Elven Mage bringing the world to an end isn't enough?"

Leliana shook her head. "We've been compromised. The Inquisitor is right, we must disband, at least… officially."

Cullen raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

"We cannot leave Solas to destroy the world, Commander, we will continue to search, to look for ways in which to stop him, even if we must do it from the shadows."

Her tone, dark and threatening, made Dryanna shiver. There was death in those words, and while she understood the motive, she had not given up hope that there might be a means to save Solas from himself. Not yet.

"I believe Orlais intends to grant the Inquisitor a noble house, to include a Council seat," Josephine told them, shocking Leliana and mortifying Dryanna.

"What?" they demanded in unison.

Josie smiled a little. "It certainly makes sense. They also mean to grant you Skyhold, after discussing the border treaties with Ferelden of course, but they are hardly in a position to protest. I've also made… _inquiries_ into the fate of Care Bronach and I believe I have convinced Ferelden to well-" She glanced meaningfully at Cullen. "To grant our dear commander a title and the Keep."

Cullen sputtered and coughed, his pallor taking on a faintly green hue. "You cannot be serious."

Leliana was smiling now, enjoying, as always, Cullen's discomfort when it came to anything vaguely political. "I'm sure Ferelden only wishes to honor a hero from their own kingdom, and I have to admit that it makes a great deal of sense, it allows the remains of the Inquisition a foothold while removing some of our claws."

"So that's it then," Cassandra said, interrupting them. "This is end of the Inquisition?"

Her words had an instant sobering effect, and, with more effort than she wanted to admit, Dryanna rose to her feet. At this point, she merely wanted to get things over with, and she desperately needed to change; she had a sense that arriving in blood splattered robes before the Council would be frowned upon, and Gods only knew what her hair must look like.

"This isn't the end of anything… it's just the beginning of something new," she said slowly, forming her words with care. "We finished what we set out to do. We saved the world when no one else would or could. They needed us at the frontlines before, when our enemy was clear and reckless, when they needed a symbol to rally around. Now we are dealing with something beyond anything any of us could have imagined and we would work better, as Lelianna said, from the shadows."

Not to mention the implications of Solas's betrayal and what it meant concerning the crumbling foundations of the Inquisition. No, as much as a part of her wished to cling to the organization she had helped to create, she knew, as she had always known, that there would be a day where they would have to set their weapons aside.

Josie nodded. "We saved the world for them and now it is time that Orlais and Ferelden use the peace we have given them. Perhaps they deserve the chance, now that we have set them down the path."

Cullen grunted, still looking vaguely unsteady on his feet. "I certainly hope they don't make our sacrifices stand for nothing other than more political peacocking."

Leliana's smile was soft, her eyes distant. "We still have much to do, Commander, this is not over. Not yet."

There was a knock on the door and Cassandra answered it. After several moments of quiet debate, she turned toward them, face grave. "They are ready for us."

All four of them looked to Dryanna, gazes piercing, but it was Cullen who spoke, "At your command… Inquisitor."

* * *

"You know, I didn't think that when I finally stopped being the 'Inquisitor' I'd be trading in one title for three others," Dryanna said conversationally from beneath a table, followed by a loud belch.

She wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up on the ground to begin with, but it was quite comfortable, all things considered. Besides, every time she tried to sit up, the world started to spin in a clear attempt to unbalance and embarrass her. Better to stay where she was.

Sera was snoring lightly beside her, a bit of drool glistening from the side of her open mouth, and a dark green bottle clutched in her arms. Dorian was sprawled like some sort of predatory feline in a nearby chair, sipping on a glass of fine Tevinter wine, the bandage at his temple somehow managing to make him look only more dashing.

"Yes well, I never expected to be made a Magister while quietly appreciating my father who I had once sworn to hate for time and all eternity."

"Life man," Varric slurred from the couch. "It's a funny, fucked up thing."

"Cheers to that," she said and lifted her glass, hitting the bottom of the table above her and splashing half the wine onto her shirt. She licked some of it off her hand.

"Josephine is going to be positively livid when she sees that blouse, but I for one am glad I will never have to see it again," Dorian drawled.

"Watch it, Tevinter, I am now a Comtess _and_ a Duchess."

Dorian snorted sardonically, and drained his glass, leg extended elegantly over the setae.

"Clever bit of maneuvering they did there," Varric said, fumbling for his glass of brandy on the end table behind him. "Letting you keep Skyhold and moving some of the borders to fold you into Orlais."

Dryanna sighed and pouted, picking at a bit of chipping paint on the underside of the very nice table in her very nice rooms. Gods, she couldn't wait to leave. She wanted her room and her bed and her castle, but mostly she just wanted to be somewhere she felt safe so she could feel sorry for herself. Just for a little while.

"It's more like a leash, meant to snare me in with the Orlesians," she grumbled, "which will only piss of the Fereldens more."

"To the Fade with Ferelden," Sera snorted, eyes still closed. "We save their stupid arses _twice_ , least they can do is let us hold up the sky or whatever. Not like any of those pricks really wants to live in a frozen castle away from everything anyway."

"I for one will never forget your final words to the ever-so Exalted Council," Dorian said, rising to his feet in a drunken pirouette. He picked a book off the table above her and strutted forward, glaring at an invisible accuser across the room. "If you will excuse me," he began in a high-pitched voice that was clearly meant to be an imitation of _her_ , "I have a world to save, _again_." He threw down the book with an exaggerated whirl of his coat and collapsed back into his chair chuckling. Dryanna tossed a slipper at him.

"I have to admit Dry," Varric said, chortling along, "that was some pretty good shit."

Dryanna groaned. "You're not going to put it into another book, are you?"

Varric looked affronted. "I'll have you know, my editor thinks _This Shit is Weird_ will be a bestseller within the year."

"I still can't believe you used that title. That has got to be the worst title for any book in the history of Thedas."

"On the contrary, I think it is the most _accurate_ title for any book in the history of Thedas."

Dryanna grunted, glaring into her mysteriously empty glass. "You may have a point there."

A moment of silence, then. "Wait I got another one!" Varric proclaimed excitedly.

"Maker help us," Dorian groaned dramatically.

Varric ignored him, sitting up in his chair. "I guess Vivienne won't be able to make you the _left_ hand of the Divine now."

Sera laughed at least. Dryanna attempted to imitate Cassandra, but the noise she made sounded more like she was passing gas than anything else. Dorian pretended to vomit into his wine glass.

As if in response, Bull snorted thunderously from the couch above her and said, in his sleep, "She shoulda known … if you wanna ride the Bull… you have to be ready for the horns." He then proceeded to roll over while Dorian observed him with a soft, adoring expression on his face.

Gods help her, she was going to miss these ridiculous assholes.

* * *

Dorian was the first to leave. She met him near the stables just after dawn, a hangover pulsing happily between her brows. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping… and it was positively disgusting.

"I suppose you're going to turn into a stuffy, fat, poorly dressed bureaucrat now," Dryanna said, feeling suddenly very small and very lonely. She could still remember the first day they'd met, his face smirking arrogantly in the sickly light of a Fade Rift. To think, a Tevinter and a Dalish elf, friends. Not that their version of the past resembled truth, not anymore, but still… it was a bridge she was happy they had crossed, together.

Dorian shuddered, looking very official in robes of black and silver. "If I do, please be sure to put me out of my misery."

Dryanna smiled, eyes pricking traitorously. "If the breech in fashion doesn't kill you out right."

"One can only hope," he said with a snort, then sobered. He reached into his pocket and fished something free, holding it out to her.

It was a pendant on a thin silver chain, finely made with delicate swirls and knots woven into a sort of cage made of silverite with tiny emeralds inset at random. It was very pretty, and Dryanna momentarily felt choked by a wave of emotion as she took it in hand.

"Open it," he pressed, and she flicked the clasp on one side open with the nail of her thumb. Inside lay a gently glowing jewel, swimming with lyrium and touches of Fade magic, pulsing steadily like the beat of a heart.

"I have its mate, you see," he said, fishing out an identical locket from beneath his robes. "Developed the magic myself over the past few months as I toiled away in my homeland. Maker knows I needed something to distract me from the endless droning. Watch."

So she did, frowning in confusion as he pressed his thumb briefly into the jewel of his locket, then jumping slightly in when the locket in her hand began to grow warm and vibrate. Her eyes widened. Impressive magic indeed.

"Touch it," he said, and with only the slightest hesitation, she did. It felt electric against her skin, prickling at her senses.

"You look terrible," Dorian's voice told her through the gem, and she looked up at him in shock as he grinned at her, lowering his hands that had cupped the pendant against his lips.

"This is amazing Dorian," she said. "Seriously amazing."

"Everything I do is amazing, hadn't you noticed? I figured this way we could continue to bolster one another's egos no matter our locations."

Dryanna rolled her eyes, beyond touched by the gesture. "Your ego is nearly as large as Thedas, Dorian."

He preened. "You're quite right, but one never tires of hearing how wonderful one is."

"You're impossible," she said, and flung herself at him.

He wrapped her up in a strong embrace, lifting her off her feet. "You're going to be just fine," he said against her shoulder. "You're the strongest person I have ever known and I love you very much."

"I love you too, Dorian," she said, sniffling and hating it. She'd meant to present a strong face, but felt her emotions balancing on the tip of a knife.

He held her for another long moment, though not nearly long enough, then pulled back to kiss her firmly on the brow, smelling of leather and lavender, like he always did. He searched her face one last time, cupping her face between his palms, then stalked away. The rising sun briefly caught the bright streaks of tears on his cheeks as he turned the corner to enter the stables.

Dryanna stood for a long while in the shade of the trees, listening to the muted sounds of the waking palace, feeling the wind on her face, and wondered how many more times she'd have to watch pieces of her heart walk away. How long before she had no pieces left to give.

* * *

Everything, it turned out, was harder with one hand.

Getting dressed alone was impossible; trying to cut any sort of food herself was embarrassing; bathing herself was completely frustrating; and _forget_ trying to tie her own boot laces.

By the time she'd managed to tighten her belt –even using her teeth at one point- she was already late for her meeting with her Josie and the Orlesian Ambassador. She wondered if perhaps she could merely stay in her rooms forever.

There was a knock on the door as she slumped on her bed in defeat. Gods, she felt like burning something. Or someone.

"What?!" she bellowed, not rising.

"I thought we might have a word in private, my dear," came a familiar voice.

Dryanna's anger quelled immediately and she swallowed back a lump of anxiety as she crossed her clothing strewn room –she'd demolished it in her search for a robe with the least amount of laces and buttons. It had been a trying morning. With a steadying breath, she opened the door to Divine Victoria, who looked regal and lovely –despite the ridiculous hat – flanked by several armed guards. Dryanna felt about as foolish and uncouth as she had three years ago when they'd first met; some things, it seemed, never changed.

Vivienne swept into the room with a slight bow, leaving her guards behind with a regal flick of her wrist. "Good morning, Your Grace."

Dryanna winced at the title. "It won't be official for several months, at least until the Empress returns."

Vivienne merely smiled, then lifted a brow at the state of her room. The smile faded completely as Dryanna closed the door and the other woman looked her up and down.

"Tsk tsk, my dear. Still unable to ask for help after all these years I see."

Dryanna's temper rose immediately and she had to bite back a sarcastic retort. Gods, she felt like a petulant child. Vivenne's gaze softened immediately, perhaps reading something in Dryanna's expression, and she reached out toward her with gentle hands.

"I am sorry we have not had more time to talk," she said as Dryanna reluctantly allowed the Divine, of all people in Thedas, to straighten the laces of her robe.

"I imagine you're quite busy," Dryanna grumbled, staring fixedly as the elaborate gold talismans that hung from Vivienne's robes, wondering idly what they meant.

" _You_ certainly have been busy. Traveling through elven mirrors, battling Qunari, chasing supposed Elven God's-" she broke off, and Dryanna looked up, surprised at the show of uncertainty.

Vivienne searched her gaze for a long moment, clearly looking for something, some sign, but Dryanna had no idea what it might be. If she wished to talk about Solas… well, Dryanna was almost certain she wasn't ready to discuss the implications further, or her personal feelings on the matter. With sigh, the Divine broke eye contact and smoothed the robe down across Dryanna's shoulders.

"There we are dear, now let me help you with your boots."

Dryanna shook her head and stepped back, hands raised as if to ward off an attack. "No! I –er, I couldn't."

Vivienne shook her head like an indulgent parent trying to reign in a difficult child and motioned to the chair nearest the door - the one next to the table she'd passed out beneath the night before. "Don't be silly, my dear. The role of Divine is one of service, and you, above all else, deserve a little kindness and pampering."

Her tone left very little room for argument, and any protest she might have made was ignored as the Divine pressed her forward.

"How are things at the Circle?" Dryanna asked as Vivienne riffled through the piles of material collected haphazardly about the opulent room, her nose scrunched up in distaste, and finally settled on a pair of soft, calf high boots in dark brown leather. Dryanna was fairly certain she had never seen them before.

Vivienne had surprised no one by reinstituting the Circles. Well, really only _one_ Circle, as well as gathering what was left of the Templar order and setting them to rights as best as current political leanings could manage. What _did_ surprise everyone –perhaps Dryanna most of all- was how the new Divine had so quickly, and unapologetically, stripped the Templars of their power. There had been plenty of dissenters when a mage was called into Perfection, and their voices became only more noisy and persistent as her changes came into effect one by one. By the end of it, however, the Templars were little more than well armored guards with little to no say in anything at all.

It was surprisingly… perfect.

The Circle, by all accounts, was flourishing. Despite the success, however, Dryanna remained cautious. She imagined the Circles had once been as they were now –open places where mages might study their craft and learn to control themselves without fear of harming others- and wondered if history would only stand to repeat itself. Leliana certainly seemed to think so.

"Wonderful, darling, simply wonderful," Vivienne said, kneeling before her with all the grace of a butterfly landing on a flower petal. "Things have finally settled again after the last _ridiculous_ revolt, though Fiona and her people still hound me on occasion, but I believe we have at least reached an understanding." Vivienne cradled her ankle in a dark, elegant hand, and Dryanna felt as though her face might burst into flame at any moment as the other woman began to gently work her foot through the bindings.

Dryanna knew all this already, of course –Leliana kept her abreast of every new political development, whether Dryanna wanted to be in the know or not.

She knew, for instance, that Fiona had managed to hold on to her College of Enchanters, Vivienne gracious enough to allow those Mages who'd voted down the Circles to retain their freedom –at a price. They had to prove that they were able to govern and police themselves, with the Chantry breathing down their necks. So far the incidents had been few and relatively minor –a few near possessions and one abomination that was quickly handled-, though the tensions remained high. Dryanna was trying desperately to stay out of it, but as a mage, and unwillingly prominent political figure, she was finding it more and more difficult.

Vivienne began lacing up her boot, the top of her hat nearly hitting Dryanna in the face, and she leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

"I was hoping you might be able to visit, as soon as you have your affairs in order of course."

"I would like that," Dryanna said, meaning it. As a Dalish Keeper's First, she had never been anywhere near a Circle, and what stories she had heard were nightmarish and not exactly inspiring. She thought of Cullen, and shivered.

Dryanna had managed, however, to visit Fiona after she'd officially established her 'center for mage education and training' –as the official facilitator of the Inquisition's treaty with the free mages, it had been her duty to ensure they were well taken care of… and not a possible threat to the rest of Thedas. Things had been rather rough, at first, but the mages had regained some of their confidence and a great deal of world experience during their fight with Corypheus, and Dryanna had eventually come away relatively confident they could manage themselves. For now, at least.

Vivienne finished Dryanna's final boot, tightening the laces carefully, and rose. "Would you like me to braid your hair, my dear?"

"Really, that won't be necessary-"

But Vivenne was already moving toward the vanity and picking up the fine comb Josie had given her for her last name day. It had a giant's tusk handle carved into the shape of a leaping Halla and Dryanna was quite fond of it. The Divine waved her to sit and, secretly enjoying being pampered, Dryanna sat before the gilded mirror.

She watched quietly as Vivienne lifted the heavy mass of her white-blonde hair and began to softly run the comb through it in deep, even strokes, humming quietly under her breath. The sensation was pretty damn wonderful, actually, and Dryanna tried to relax, letting her hazel eyes slip closed as she listened to the unfamiliar melody and the rythmic slide of the brush. In truth, looking at her reflection for long made her… uneasy, like she wasn't quite certain who was looking back anymore. The eyes were the same, honey and gold with splotches of green, but the fan of wrinkles encompassing each was a rather more recent development, as were the scattering of scars across her left cheek and chin.

Though nothing was more unsettling than the empty space at her left side; her bath earlier that morning had been a test of emotional fortitude and she'd draped a towel over the full length mirror in her dressing room to avoid accidentally seeing herself. It was of course Vain and foolish, but she wasn't quite ready to face her naked form just yet.

"I confess I came here to broach a rather… _sensitive_ subject, my dear," Vivienne said as she set the comb aside and began to section off portions of her hair.

Dryanna tensed, not precisely surprised, but perhaps foolishly hopeful. Obviously the Divine wouldn't merely stop by her rooms and braid her hair and lace her boots without a higher purpose.

She cleared her throat. "Of course, my lady."

"First I should offer my deepest sympathies for not only the loss of your hand, but also for the betrayal of one I know you held very dear to your heat," she began and Dryanna clenched her hand against her knee, willing herself to breathe through the sudden and sharp pain in her chest. Vivienne had never liked Solas, her distaste for the elven Apostate clear from the start. "But well, I had to be certain, that-"

Vivienne's eyes flicked up as she tied off Dryanna's hair with a fine lace ribbon. They were hard and serious, making Dryanna's pulse quicken, as though she were a halla caught in a predator's snare, and she felt as though the other woman was peering into the tenderest parts of her heart. Pulling bits of useful information free to examine up close.

"I must know if you are willing to do what must be done," she finished with a deep sigh, letting the braid fall heavy against Dryanna's back.

"W-what do you mean?" Dryanna stuttered, though she knew, with a sinking sensation in her gut, exactly what she was asking.

"I mean, my dear, are you willing to do whatever it may take to stop Solas?" Vivienne said, resting her hands on Dryanna's shoulders like heavy slabs of stone, holding her prisoner in the fetters of her delicate hands. "I know what he meant to you… perhaps what he still means to you. But certainly you see that he is beyond redemption. After everything he has done, and everything he intends to do, he deserves no mercy."

Vivienne's tone was gentle, almost warm, but beneath the velvet honey was a thread of sharpened steel, the hint of a dark promise. But Dryanna was no longer the frightened Dalish girl who'd stumbled from the Fade bearing a mysterious and dangerous mark, who knew nothing of humans or their ways, who fumbled and tripped over herself attempting to adapt to the role she'd been forced to take. She had learned this game, had seen it's machinations in motion, and would play it as she must. For her sake, and for the elven man she still believed, despite everything, could be saved.

The voices of the Well stirred and whispered _… though your search may take you from the light, and into shadows._

"Of course, Most Holy," she lied, meeting Vivenne's stare with lifted chin. "Of course."


	3. It Begins

**_Chapter Three_** **:** **_It Begins  
_**

* * *

 _We broke_  
 _Everything that was right_  
 _We both enjoyed a good fight_

 _And we sewed_  
 _All the holes we had to breathe_  
 _To make the other one live_

 _And I loved the way you looked at me_  
 _And I miss the way you made me feel_  
 _When we were alone_

 _-Shiver, Lucy Rose_

* * *

Necessity had forced Dryanna to forget.

No… not forget. Never forget.

 _Repress._

It would have been easy, far too easy, for her to slip into the oblivion his absence had left behind, to let go of everything she'd worked so hard to accomplish and drape herself in sorrow. So, she pushed aside the memories of his hands, warm and steady on her hips, of his lips sliding achingly across her mouth, of his taste and smell and presence, allowing her to continue on as she must.

Still… he lingered in the smaller moments.

Appearing in her sudden dislike of tea, in her quiet interest in everything related to the Fade, in her attempts to understand more about Spirits and Demons and the mysterious pasts' of their people. Subconsciously hoping her efforts might lead her to his side and help her understand why he had left her behind.

Flashes of his ghost haunted her, tormenting her with the curve of his smile and the line of his jaw echoed in the faces of strangers. Sometimes she wondered if she was going slowly mad. If a piece of her mind and heart had been lost forever, and with it her sanity.

She would watch Cullen open a report and recall Solas's long, nimble fingers, so gentle yet so determined, so sure as they reached for her, only to tremble away when she reached back. She would listen to Thom and Cassandra exchange war stories over a fire and recall Solas's calming, understanding presence, and the quiet sad sort of look that would come over him when he recounted his memories from the Fade. Memories that she was now certain weren't dreams, but experiences he'd personally endured in a time beyond her imagining.

 _No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had… was real._

Looking down at her remaining hand in a silver stretch of moonlight, Dryanna wasn't sure what was real any longer. In the recesses of her mind, a lone wolf howled a single, broken note that went on and on and on.

* * *

Her friends left one and two at a time.

Varric's departure came shortly after Dorian's. He reminded her that she owed him a visit and that Bran, his seneschal, wouldn't leave him alone until they'd had a proper ceremony for her title as Comtess –and unlikely holder of the port key for Kirkwall. Iron Bull left with his Chargers to escort the Tevinter Ambassador to the border of Orlais, promising to return to Skyhold once the job was done. For how long, he didn't say, and Dryanna hadn't asked. She had merely smiled, waggled her brows, and waved goodbye to Krem who stood very close to a certain bard.

Sera was the easiest, as she merely departed ahead of their main contingent so she could return to a certain –insane- dwarven anarcist. Dryanna had sent her back with some reports and missives, then promised she'd be home as soon as possible, and to please not allow Dagna blow up anything important.

Cassandra avoided saying farewell for days before finally cornering Dryanna in a deserted hallway. She looked like a child about to confess some sort of misdeed to a parent.

"I've word from several Seekers, we'd like to, under Divine Victoria's discretion, start rebuilding," she said to Dryanna's boots.

Dryanna smiled, heart sinking. She'd expected this, of course, but found the reality harder to face than she had imagined. "That's wonderful Cassandra. Where will you begin?"

"In the Hinterlands," she said, still not meeting her eye. "You recall the castle we wrested from those mercenaries?"

"Rather hard to forget," Dryanna said wryly, tapping the left ridge of her jaw where a mercenary's dagger had caught her, drawing the other woman's attention.

Cassandra coughed into her gloved fist. "Yes, well, the Divine has seen fit to grant it to the order while we attempt to rebuild and assess the damage. Oh, and she has named me Lady Seeker, though I thought perhaps we might rid the new order of such titles all together."

Dryanna nodded, hoping her face betrayed nothing of her disappointment. "That's wonderful news, Cassandra. I know how much this means to you. I always believed you could reestablish the Seekers toward a brighter cause."

The Seeker's cheeks colored slightly and she peeked sidelong at Dryanna, as if she wasn't entirely sure if she should believe her. "It will take years to rebuild… and in light of what we learned at Caer Oswin, well, there is much to do. Much that must be changed." At least, Dryanna reasoned, the Hinterlands were not _too_ far from Skyhold.

Draynna placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "You know you have my full support. Always."

Cassandra seemed to melt slightly with relief, her smile turning genuine. "Thank you, my friend. It is good to know that you are not angry with me for leaving."

"I did not expect you to stay long, now that the Inquisition is officially disbanded," she said. "There is much to do, many things that need to be set right."

Cassandra fixed her with an even, contemplative stare. "I know what the other's will say. What they have already begun to say. But Solas… was my friend. I believe as you do that there is hope he may be reasoned with. And if anyone can find that reason, it is you."

Dryanna swallowed thickly and, mostly because she could think of nothing to say that wouldn't tear her soul into even _smaller_ pieces, she drew the other woman in for a tight hug. It was much less awkward this time; clearly practice would make perfect.

* * *

Dryanna met Leliana in a small storage room near the dungeons beneath the Winter Palace long after the midnight bell had rung.

"Well?" she asked, stepping into the faint circle of light from a single, small torch.

Leliana, cloaked and dressed in black, pulled the shroud from first one Eluvian, then three others, all of them dark and lifeless. For the moment, at least. "We've secured two more, they should be delivered tomorrow. My agents in Ferelden have accounted for eight so far, they will be smuggled to Skyhold as soon as they are able."

Dryanna nodded gravely. More than she had anticipated, but it was hard to say from where they had come and to what purpose. Solas? The Qunair? Or-

"And what of Briala?"

Leliana's jaw tightened. "Still long gone, along with an increasing number of elven servants. We can find no trace of the Ambassador."

"Gods, that was fast… what could it mean?"

Leliana hesitated, looking thoughtfully at the mirrors, as though she expected some direction or information to come leaping out to aid her. "There have been rumors… whispers among the servants-" she broke off.

"Of?" Dryanna pressed, tugging the folds of her cloak closer about her to ward off the chill of stone and uncertainty that permeated the air.

"Of a presence, visiting elven servants in their dreams. A presence, or _demon,_ claiming to be Mythal."

Dryanna rubbed her hand over her face, considering. She had not forgotten the price she'd paid for the Well, but she didn't particularly appreciate being indirectly reminded. "I did not expect things to get moving so quickly."

"Our old friend has been busy these past two years, it seems."

Dryanna snorted, acid tingling at the back of her throat. "While we sat around thinking the world was saved and our problems gone."

"Perhaps we should be grateful that Corypheus proved more powerful than Solas anticipated," Leliana said darkly.

Dryanna's head snapped toward her, disbelieving. "What do you mean?"

Leliana met her stare, eyes hard and glittering. "If not for Corypheus, Solas would have destroyed the world outright, without a single person knowing the better."

She was right, of course. Solas had admitted it himself, but it proved to be a bitter truth to swallow.

"Never thought I'd be thanking a crazy, ancient, Tevinter Magister made of red lyrium and delusion." She said, deflecting her true feelings deftly with sarcasm.

Leliana made a faint noise of amusement, then: "I must ask, my lady, do you have a plan? I confess… I find myself at a loss." Dryanna could hear how difficult it was for her former Spymaster to admit her helplessness, and she understood the feeling all too well.

Dryanna leaned against the wall, watching the torch flames dance for a moment before speaking. "I'm not sure I would call it a _plan_ , but I have some ideas… a sense of what we must do."

"And… that is?"

Dryanna drew a breath, steeling herself, before meeting the other woman's stare. She wasn't quite ready to divulge all her ideas, most of her thoughts were merely that -thoughts, hopes, half truths that needed more to form into fully fledged concepts. "We have to prove to Solas that this world is one worth saving. We have to lift up the elves and rebuild their kingdom."

"Ahhhh," Leliana said slowly, looking away with a deeply furrowed brow. "So, it will be simple then."

Dryanna snorted humorlessly. "Precisely."

She pushed away from the wall and moved toward the closest of the Eluvians, reaching out instinctively to touch its lightless surface before stopping herself just in time. She could feel a tingle of energy, like a surge of recognition, and it made her skin crawl.

 _There are many keys,_ the Well whispered. _You merely need to know where to look._

"We'll begin in the Dales. We've more gold and influence than we know what to do with. It will go a long way into rebuilding."

She heard Leliana shift slightly, felt the pressure of her stare. "Forgive me, my lady, but would it not be easier to hunt Solas down ourselves, stop him that way? What you suggest, well, it may prove impossible."

Dryanna smirked and it felt sharp and dangerous on her face, her fingers still lingering just away from the Eluvian. "Closing the Breach was meant to be impossible, defeating Corypheus doubly so, and Solas… _Fen'Harel's_ power makes an ancient Tevinter Magister look like a child with a dangerous toy." He'd frozen the Qunari with a wave of his hand. She turned toward Leliana. "And he is not wrong, not entirely. This world _is_ broken, and my people _do_ deserve better. They most certainly deserve the truth. I believe that our best hope is to convince him that there is value in this world. That there are things worth saving."

 _Since I was not enough_ , the shards of her heart whispered.

Leliana's eyes grew sharp for a moment, her mind clearly turning through all their options at a lightning speed, before she nodded slowly. "You have never led us astray, my lady. Though I confess that I am… uneasy with this plan. But the Maker brought you to us, and I will not turn away from his hand. Where do we start?"

Dryanna forced herself to close the distance and pressed her bare hand to the surface of the mirror. It was warm and slithering to the touch, but she did not flinch away. "We start with the Eluvians, and a very old library, which lies somewhere between our world and the Fade. There are answers there, information that will be vital if we are to have any hope of discovering his plans. In the meantime we speak to Celene, review the old treaties before the Exalted March, see how we might rebuild the Dales."

Leliana moved away. "Very well, I will have Josie start digging." A stretch of silence as she moved toward the door, then: "You must let him go, Dryanna. He is beyond our reach now. I… know what it is to lose someone to a cause beyond understanding or logic, but we must do what has to be done." Leliana placed a hand briefly on her shoulder. "Like you always have."

Dryanna bit her lip to contain a sob, listening to the sound of receding footsteps, and rested her forehead against the Eluvian for a long while.

"Why have you gone where I cannot follow, _vehnan?_ "

* * *

When she finally made it back to her rooms, most of her chests and packs already full in preparation for a much desired departure, she found a note sealed closed with a raven's feather on her pillow.

Feeling a shiver trepidation, Dryanna fumbled it open with her hand, the feather fluttering to the ground unseen as she read the contents.

 _Follow the trail through the Crossroads, I have some information you might find interesting. You'll find the key next to my favorite wine._

 _-M_

Heart pounding, Dryanna crumbled the note and tossed it into the dying embers of the hearth fire. She watched the edges crinkle and burn, motionless until the secret was consumed and gone. It was near dawn before she finally went to bed.

* * *

"I've given the patents of nobility to your Ambassador, as well as the documents required to officially grant you governance of Griffin Wing Keep, under certain limitations, of course," Ambassador Montford said cheerily, sliding a very official bit of parchment at Dryanna across his desk. It was mid day and they'd been at it for hours already, Dryanna's patience stretching thinner with each passing moment.

"If you could sign here, the official process of granting you and your successors Skyhold might begin."

Dryanna glanced at Josie who nodded slightly, and signed. Montford snatched it up with a flourish, rolled it carefully, and then pressed it shut with the official seal of Orlais.

"As soon as Her Majesty returns, the official ceremony shall be held, and your seat among the Council of Heralds made official." Dryanna wondered idly how many times the man had said 'offical' since their meeting had begun.

"When is the Empress expected to return?" Dryanna asked, fiddling with the end of her sash. Gods, she was anxious, ready to finally return to Skyhold and beyond tired of diplomatic meetings. There was so much to do before winter, and she had an entire army to disband.

"Her Majesty is expected to return in six weeks-"

"Six weeks?" Josie asked, brows rising. "We were told two."

Montford smiled and it didn't reach his eyes. "There have been extenuating circumstances."

Dryanna frowned leaning forward in her chair. "I hope the Empress is well."

The Ambassador waved a dismissive hand. "Oh yes, of course. Have no fear, Your Grace, all is in place while we await her return. All that is missing is the pageantry."

Gods, to the Void with pageantry, she thought.

"About the other matter we discussed…" Josie hinted.

Monford looked suddenly grave. "We cannot be sure Ambassador Briala will not return."

"It has been half a year, my lord," Josie reminded him politely.

"The Empress believes-"

"The Empress is wrong," Dryanna snapped, unable to help herself. She could feel Josie's scandalized stare boring into her. Dryanna ignored her. "We haven't time to wait her out any longer, already the servants are disappearing. You need someone to rally the People before it is too late."

Ambassador Montford fixed her with a penetrating stare. Beneath all the pleasantry and evasion, was an intelligent man, she knew, she only hoped she could make him see reason. After a long stretch of silence, in which she could feel Josie's discomfort growing, the man nodded.

"Very well, I will be sure to personally write to the Empress addressing your concerns. There will be a meeting of the Council after the official ceremony for your seat is held, I imagine the topic might be broached then."

Dryanna rose to her feet, muscles itching to flee.

"Thank you, Lord Montford, your help and support has been invaluable," she said, feeling faintly proud of herself. Once upon a time all this empty pleasantry and veiled lying had been difficult for her. Wouldn't her mother be proud? To see her adapting so beautifully to shem ways. There was a sudden sick lurch of her gut, and she told herself that someday… someday she would no longer have to play this pretty game of false smiles and hidden blades.

The Orlesian Ambassador rose to his feet, executing a perfect bow. "It was a pleasure, Your Grace, and we look forward to your return."

She and Joise left while Dryanna wondered if that too, was a lie.

* * *

"I dream of him, sometimes," Dryanna said suddenly, filling the silence of the carriage as it jostled along. The Winter Palace was several hours behind them and she finally felt as though she could breathe again.

Cassandra turned her head toward her. The Seeker was returning with them to Skyhold to gather her things before departing for the Hinterlands, and Dryanna had the sneaking suspicion that Cass was worried about her. They were all concerned, of course. She could feel them watching her carefully, looking for signs of breakage or weakness, and it rankled as much as it comforted. It was nice to be cared about, but she didn't want to be treated like a breakable bit of glass, even if that was exactly how she felt.

"A wolf in the distance, watching me. Sometimes I reach out to him, but always he turns and runs. I didn't understand what it meant before… but now…" she trailed off, watching the trees flit past as bright sunlight filtered through heavy branches. Autumn was still several months off, but Skyhold was almost always shrouded in snow, and she hoped that the winter would be kinder than the last.

Two years had seen a major uptick in population, a town sprouting beneath the castle almost overnight. Tents and barracks giving way to homes and shops, there was even a Chantry cathedral in the final stages of construction. Just last year they'd opened a mine surprisingly rich with gold, silver, and silverite, and there was talking of opening another. They'd also had a great deal of luck with cattle, and Skyhold being the center of the Inquisition had brought a great deal of trade and progress to the area, especially in light of the finished pass. It was quickly becoming to best way to travel between Orlais and Ferelden. Dryanna only hoped that the disbanding of the Inquisition wouldn't destroy their steadily budding economy, though it was likely a foolish hope.

"He loves you still, then." Cassandra whispered, a statement, not a question. Words Dryanna didn't want to hear, or even consider.

It was unlike her friend to ride in a carriage, just as it was unlike Dryanna to want to, but she hadn't quite been able to master one-armed horseback riding in her time at the palace and the private shame of it had driven her within the gilded monstrosity Josie -who was currently riding with Leliana in another carriage- had insisted on. She suspected Cassandra had joined her for moral support, which she appreciated.

"Does it matter?" Dryanna asked, hearing the flat tone of her voice, barely feeling the words as they slipped off her tongue. She could see Thom just ahead, speaking with one of the soldiers and smiling cheerfully. It was good to see him smile, they'd been so rare after his true name had been revealed, and she was glad he hadn't decided to leave them _–her-_ yet, though she suspected it was coming.

"Of course it matters," Cassandra said impatiently. "It may be the only thing that matters."

Dryanna receded into the cushions and out of the sun. "It didn't matter before, why would it matter now."

Cassandra was silent for a stretch, her lips pursed and her brow furrowed in thought. When she spoke at last, her words were careful.

"Solas always had the look of a man on the edge of something. I didn't understand at the time, though Maker knows I wish I had, but I always knew it had something to do with you. He would look at you sometimes with such _sadness_ , as though he was warring with himself about something, and it was breaking him apart inside. I think… I think he nearly gave his plot up for you on several occasions, in retrospect. I could see it in the way he was occasionally more _there_ than others, which is not very descriptive I know, but I can think of no better way to explain it. And then, well, then I would watch him pull away again."

Gods, it hurt to hear, and she gripped the edge of her seat to contain her agony. What did it matter how he had looked at her? It hadn't changed anything.

"He would never let his feelings for me detract from his duty, he made that very clear," she ground out, the world outside the carriage blurring as her eyes stung. She refused to cry. She had shed too many tears at his memory and she refused to give him more.

"I think you're wrong," Cassandra said sternly. "I think he runs from you because every second he spends with you is another step closer to giving up the path he is on. Maybe… maybe a part of him is hoping you _can_ change his mind."

Dryanna rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "I hope you're right Cassandra. It would make this much easier if you were."

Cassandra's smile was sardonic and she looked back out the window, settling into her seat. "I never claimed it would be easy."

"It never is, is it?"

"My brother used to say that nothing worth having is ever easy," Cassandra said quietly. She rarely, if ever spoke of her brother and Dryanna smiled despite herself.

"Your brother was a wise man."

Cassandra snorted. "He was stubborn, bullheaded, and cocky, but he did occasionally get something right."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Dryanna muttered, and dodged a gold stitched cushion.


End file.
